Many Days of Ella
by Greenglass
Summary: Everyday life of Cinderella well before the ball is announced or had even been thought of. A collection of oneshots really. Mainly based on 1950s Cinderella.


It was indeed a sad day.

The rain was cascading down the glass window panes and falling in sheets, bloating the fields outside and running in rivulets into ditches and it was relentless, just like the torrents of grief pouring from the little girl sat weighed down in one of the bedrooms of the chateau. She was bowed over the bed in one dimly lit room and must have been ten years old and her slight body was racked by sadness, you could see it by the way her back was bent and by the way her arms were clutched to her caved chest, but most of all there was no mistaking the pain pulling down her sweet face, making her clear blue eyes bleak and her countenance desolate. She was crying. Thick droplets rolled down her cheeks as she regarded her father, his face so still and grey. His body still in death.

In her mind, whenever one memory of him came and went, another immediately took its place, and so, she was caught every time and was held captive to the feelings crashing down on her as she thought of those times she would never have again and tears kept on creeping from her eyes after she had brushed away the ones that had preceded. The noise of her sadness drowned out the whispering occupants of the room. The doctor, the manservant, the maid, and...

And them.

Impossibly, some of her grief shrivelled dry in that moment, and Ella blinked and stiffly turned to look around, suddenly achingly empty inside, and at the fringes of the hollow, fragile and trembling. Her stepmother, Drizella and Anastasia stood back from the bed end, Drizella scowling, Anastasia ashen and Stepmother –

Ella gazed numbly at her. Her stepmother was beautiful. Ella could see why her father liked her. Had liked her she corrected sadly. Everything about her stepmother's countenance was bold, rich and admirable. Her cat-like green eyes were catching the lamp light, but Ella saw that their depths were shuttered, stony and her lips were contorted which told Ella that her new mother was extremely unhappy, but her eyes weren't wet. Did that mean she wasn't sad?

Unexpectedly, her stepmother's eyes settled on Ella's and Ella felt her breath snatched away. Whatever her stepmother was feeling, it was something profound and it was sending forth a dominant aura and Ella cringed under the fixated quickly looked down, to her alarm, more tears were pushing from her eyes and drizzling with abandon down her cheeks. Like a whip lashing. That was how to describe what was happening in her chest and it wasn't all to do with grief, but also panic that was quickly consuming her. Her small chest strained up and down. Panic that she was alone. Panic when she had seen that expression on her stepmother's face. Cold and displeased. A few moments later, a cold finger curled underneath her chin and lifted Ella's face. Ella pressed her lips together and stilled below her stepmother's scrutiny.

"The time for tears has gone," her new mother said quietly, but firmly, "Your father has left us," her lips twitched, "He is not here to see the tears shed for him and they only fall from one's own self-pity."

"I c-can't help it," said Ella piteously, her breath hitching badly. She stared desparately into her stepmother's eyes wishing for warmth and affection.

"Child, excuses are as pitiable from adults as from the young. Why do you look at me that way?" Ella's face had scrunched in a frown.

"I -I don't understand. Daddy said that crying shows how much someone meant to you –"

"Well, if you know so much more than my years have shown me –" said her stepmother, disapproval colouring her voice.

Ella's brows furrowed further at that. "No, I just," she stumbled over the words, "daddy would have –"

"That doesn't matter at all now," said her stepmother coldly. She gripped Ella arm. "Come away from the bed," she said and pulled her from the mattress.

"No," Ella gasped.

"Disobedient child. We must let the doctor – Doctor, it is too upsetting, cover him."

The doctor bustled over and covered Lord Tremaine's face with a white handkerchief. Ella watched it flutter into place, wide eyed, frozen in her stepmother's strong grip.

"May I begin the preparation for burial?" the doctor said softly.

"Yes, you may."

"No," moaned Ella. She pulled towards the bed.

"Stop," said her stepmother and prevented her, and Ella's shoes only slipped on the wood floor, but she ignored the vice around her arm and continued to try.

The doctor looked sad. In fact, all the staff looked at the scene with great sadness.

Drizella approached, scowling and said, "Mother said stop it." Anastasia, nobody noticed, was holding her breath, tears in her eyes.

"Please, let me go," pleaded Ella. "Please."

Lady Tremaine with her superior strength hauled her stepchild back. "No," she said.

Ella's hand stretched back towards her father as her stepmother brought her to the rear of the room.

"Stop immediately, or you will be punished, child," her stepmother scolded, turning Ella to face her. Ella twisted to look at the bed despite how strict her stepmother's face.

"Daddy!" she cried.

Anastasia flinched. Drizella, who had placed herself close to Ella, leant closer.

"You're going to be punished now," she said.

"Drizella," admonished Lady Tremaine quietly, her eyes flicking to the audience they had near them. Drizella glanced over, then looked down.

"Disobedient children ought to be chastised certainly, " said Lady Tremaine in a honeyed fashion. Ella, despite her normally sweet forbearance, screamed for her father as she was taken away, until one harsh tug cut off her cries and she didn't shout again, her voice lost. In some other room, she was deposited and stood silently crying, her hands fisted in her smock. All of a sudden, the situation she found herself in knocked out the hysteria.

'Stop immediately, or you will be punished' echoed loudly in her head and Ella looked up quickly.

Her stepmother had just let the door latch click shut. She turned and leant back against it. Anastasia and Drizella clutched each other's hands, pale, both bright eyed, flicking their eyes back and forth from their mother to their stepsister.

"When Hue talked about his daughter, he portrayed a lovely, peaceful child that didn't make a fuss and never stamped her feet," her stepmother said slowly and Ella listened, her heart flying, "I saw no evidence to the contrary, but one can't tell until the child is tried."

Ella blinked in confusion. Her stepmother approached and Ella stepped back and when she did, her stepmother came no closer.

"I am surprised and the behaviour I have just witnessed disgusts me." Every word hit Ella like a slap and it continued, more terrible. "Your father left you," Ella's mind reeled back, "It is no wonder that he didn't cling on to life for you; self pitying and disobedient creature."

The last words rang loudly in her ears, vibrating like a cymbal, rang over and over again and Ella could only stare at her stepmother, no words coming to challenge her. Silence stretched on. It was that she had no will to say anything. It appeared to be acknowledged that whatever Ella might say would be turned against her. The silence seemed to beg a retort but none came. Slowly, the wicked hurt within Ella was smothered by numbness and from somewhere a laugh tried to force its way out, but that wouldn't be right, Ella thought hollowly, disjointed from her turmoil. She did not feel happy. Subsequently, Ella eventually looked down. She felt...nothing.

A giggle bubbled into the room and Anastasia slapped a hand over her mouth. Lady Tremaine's eyes slid over to her daughters.

"Girls," she said, "come away," and beckoned them to her to which they responded by sheltering under her arms like baby birds.

They left the room but Ella didn't follow.

"Mother, why didn't you punish her? You said you would," said Drizella.

Lady Tremaine was silent for a moment, "but I did Drizella," she said presently with a small smile.

Drizella frowned. "Oh."

"Why did you say those things," piped up Anastasia. Her voice quavered. Anastasia had also lost a father too, after all. Without helping it, she had taken those words the same way her stepsister had even though she knew her mother hadn't been referring to their father. Even so, hurt bloomed in a deep place within her heart.

Lady Tremaine looked down her nose. "Anastasia," she started, "you will come to understand that if you don't tell the truth, you are being unkind to others, no matter how hurtful it might be. Ella is your late stepfather's child by blood, and I mustn't put up with her ways just because she is his heir. You understand, Anastasia? Drizella? You are also entitled to what your late stepfather has left us. This is ours now."

"What is?" said Drizella.

"This chateau. Everything in it. And I can buy you new dresses, my dears, with the money that has been left to us."

Anastasia's and Drizella's faces lit up.

"And shoes?" said Drizella.

"Yes."

Anastasia sobered and looked behind her to the receding corridor and the room they had left, Lady Tremaine observed.

"Watch where you are going, Anastasia," she snapped. "Now, hold here," she turned back, "Ella," she called coldly, "where are you? Come here at once, child."

Back in the abandoned room, Ella lifted her head and then dragged her feet to the door. She clutched onto the frame and peered out.

"Don't make me wait any longer," her stepmother called. "Good," she crooned as Ella stopped next to them, "that's better."

As this turning point in their lives, little did Lady Tremaine know, that Ella would never be disobedient again.

* * *

A/N - A different take on the scene where young Cinderella is mourning her father. Hope you like :)


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